Here and Nowhere Else

Cloud Nothings' latest album moves in one direction and at a breakneck pace. Dylan Baldi is simply unwilling or unable to stop writing hook-filled songs, rendering Here and Nowhere Else even more tense and thrillingly conflicted than its predecessor. The band continues to make powerfully utilitarian music for people who don’t seek out this type of music just to be told what to think.

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Cloud Nothings' 2012 album Attack on Memory aspired to be not only the band's first great album, but one that would eradicate their introductory phase as Dylan Baldi’s solo, no-fi pop-punk project. It succeeded wildly on the first count, the second one not so much: on singles “Stay Useless” and “Fall In”, Steve Albini scoured the reverb and fuzz just to further expose Baldi's facility with bittersweet melody. Baldi gives it another go on Here and Nowhere Else, enlisting John Congleton to wipe away any remnant of “Hey Cool Kid” and present Cloud Nothings as they’ve never been and probably never will be: a grisly, caustic punk trio knocking out harrowing and powerful singalongs in dingy basements that can barely contain the sound. Once again, though, Baldi is simply unwilling or unable to stop writing hook-filled songs, rendering Here and Nowhere Else even more tense and thrillingly conflicted than its predecessor.

In spite of the grayscale environs, Baldi would have you believeHere and Nowhere Else boasts a sunnier disposition than Attack on Memory, but the lyrics sheet is filled with brusque marching orders: a strangulated repetition of “Swallow” directing the listener through the desolate wilderness of “Giving Into Seeing”, and opener “Now Hear In” stating with cold equanimity, “I can feel your pain/ And I feel alright about it.” The more noticeable shift Cloud Nothings make here is physical: they try to enact themselves into right thinking by ditching just about any verbal, mental, or instrumental unnecessary baggage.

Regardless, Cloud Nothings have not gotten “tighter”. Baldi replaces the twinkly leads of the departed Joe Boyer by acting as both lead and rhythm guitarist, alternating low-slung, detuned riffs and shards of dissonance that owe equal debts to Josh Homme and J. Robbins. More than ever, Cloud Nothings are a band that will inspire novice guitarists to play along with their records, an important role for any band to occupy—and forget about the piano that occasionally popped up on the indulgent-by-comparison Attack on Memory: despite Congleton’s C.V. (Bill Callahan, St. Vincent) the most ornate production trick featured here is an echo effect liquefying Baldi into a molten puddle during the phosphene-inducing coda of “Pattern Walks”. In fact, it’s pretty much the only production trick on Here and Nowhere Else, save for the frightening thwack of Jayson Gerycz’s snare coming off like a percussive Wilhelm scream.

To put it bluntly, Jayson Gerycz is the most beneficial addition to any rock band I can think of in the past decade, and Here and Nowhere Else reiterates that, rather than Albini, Congleton, or Baldi's newfound vocal prowess, he represents the most crucial alteration to Cloud Nothings yet. His drums are rightfully put higher in the mix than the vocals, so he speaks for Cloud Nothings just as much as Baldi does, as the two define *Here and Nowhere Else’*s mind/body dynamic where restlessness and an implacable urge for action serves as a paradoxical stasis.

Here and Nowhere Else mostly moves in one direction and at a breakneck pace; by playing just ahead of the beat, taking charge of the song with torrential fills, Gerycz does everything in his power to try and throw it off course. The insatiable drive and urgency of Here and Nowhere Else, as well as the resulting cohesion, means that it might initially appear less ambitious than Attack on Memory. To call it a “grower” would be accurate, though that downplays its visceral jolt*,* as previous Cloud Nothings records revealed their high points fairly quickly; here, the initial sonic beating's reflected in the unmistakable shades of purple, black, and blue-black in the resultant bruises.

Baldi told Pitchfork in an earlier interview that he wasn't a punk himself growing up, but rather a musical loner who "didn't really like anyone." That’s a mentality easy to latch onto, as Cloud Nothings continue to make powerfully utilitarian music for people who don’t seek out this type of music just to be told what to think. They siphon punk’s righteous physicality and leave self-righteousness, victimization, and nihilism as the subject matter of the privileged. In ridding themselves of talking points, Cloud Nothings espouse a desire to live in the present moment, and that in itself is an admirable ambition. On Here and Nowhere Else, their music becomes a pure resource of energy that allows the listener to do what they will.

Whether you use Here and Nowhere Else to soundtrack a grueling run or a pound-the-steering-wheel commute to work, closer “I’m Not Part of Me” is a hell of a victory lap, Cloud Nothings’ finest song to date. After the satisfying sensory deprivation that precedes it, the song acknowledges the bigger stages the band occupies right now, generously expanding the prior, potent austerity of Baldi’s songwriting to include an EP’s worth of hooks. It also serves as Baldi’s valedictory speech: “It starts right now/ There's a way I was before/ But I can’t recall how I was those days anymore.” He’s become a trenchant critic of his own work, and as much as the title of Attack on Memory spoke for itself, that lyric encapsulates everything you’ve heard on Here and Nowhere Else: this may very well be how Baldi imagined himself in his basement back in 2009, trying to make music that reflected the mundane despair of being a kid in Cleveland with no real propsects, while secretly striving to make music that would allow him to get the fuck out. Five years later, it’s almost impossible to remember a time when Baldi failed to hit the mark.